steady hands
by HeartOfCoal
Summary: a case pushes Will too far; in fact, they push him down a flight of stairs. may be more that 1 chapter if you guys like it.
1. Chapter 1

**authors note: I'm not sure if I should add another chapter to this. If you guys find it good enough I will. Thank ya.**

A hearty hand slapped Will on the shoulder, and Will began silent fuming as Jack walked away.

_Leave you to it._

Jack spoke of what Will did as if it were something as easy as sweeping. It deeply angered Will that there was no way that Jack could ever know the pain (both physical and mental) that transporting himself into the minds of these people caused him, Truthfully, Will hadn't even been able to admit it to himself, or even Dr. Lector. Swallowing a groan of pain, Will slid his glasses into his pocket and closed his eyes; wiped the sweat off the back of his neck and began his work.

He felt the little tug within him that let him know where he was, now, and slowly opened his eyes. Rewound his actions and the scene before him. Deep breath. And, action.

_The family doesn't hear me enter their house. I look around, momentarily caught up in the beauty of the ancient woodwork. Run my finger over it, scowling at the dust that coats my fingertip; somebody's been lazy. I hear the TV from the next room, the food network slowly oozing into the entryway from the living room. I make sure to take my shoes off before coming inside: would hate to get the luxury rugs muddy. _

_ The dad looks up first. He stands up and the wife turns off the TV and turns towards me, not bothering to get up. _

_ "So, you finally decided to come home?" His voice is cruel; he knows the answer and I fiddle with the gun in my pocket, shrugging. I feel his hand on my arm suddenly, tugging me to the door. "Well, son, it's too late. You either clean up or get away from here," my dad hisses into my ear. _

_ I wait until we're near the door to knock him unconscious with the butt of my gun. When I enter, the woman that birthed me stands and opens her mouth to question me; she doesn't have time. I shoot her twice in the stomach and watch her bleed. I smile, because it feels good. Her body is still warm and struggling for air when I lay her on the couch. I position the man the same way and shoot him in between the eyes. _

_ The girls are all tucked in, all thee of them. Triplets. Perfect blonde angels that m-those parent's wanted. I shoot them quickly so that they won't feel it. It's not their fault. I take them in my arms and carry them downstairs. Place them on the couch next to the parents. Pour a circle of gasoline around the couch. Sit down next to them. I light a cigarette and when it's almost done, I throw it behind me and hear the gas spark to life._

_ I feel the fire bite into me. Watch it peel my skin and then I am watching the people who rejected me burn, just like they told me I would do._

Will tried to pull himself out, tries to get out of the burning body, but can't. Nobody sees him struggling and he stands inside the ash, near the bodies, shaking. Head pounding, legs weak, he sinks to his knees.

_I watch the fire lick up to my arms; I am peeling from myself. I imagine myself in layers, all blood red and surprisingly whole for being ripped apart. I let myself remember my parents' face when I got kicked out of school. Let myself relish in the hellish burn of my limbs. This is right. This is how it's supposed to me. I am f–_

Will feel's something shockingly cold on his face and he snaps back into him self. Beverly stands with a water bottle in her hand, half empty, because half of it is dripping off of his face and onto his shirt; and it is _cold. _He gasps quietly and stands up, brushing the ashes off his jeans.

"You okay?" she asks. Will nods.

He drives himself back to the academy, because he has a class to teach, but he can't get the crime scene out of his head. The feeling of burnt flesh still lingers, pinching at his legs and making him shiver. He groans in despair to find that he's out of aspirin.

Will doesn't say anything to anybody until after his last class, when he's laying on the couch in the rarely used employee lounge. It's after he's given up on the hope of getting the smell of burning bodies out of his sinuses and after he'd spent the past half an hour vomiting up everything he'd eaten that day. Jack strides in and sighs, relieved to have found Will.

"There's a fresh body. We'll be leaving in ten min–"

"Forget it, Jack," Will mummers.

"What?" he barks. Will groans and sits up, rubbing his sweaty brow.

"I'm going home. No more today."

"Like hell you're going home! We need you on this case!"

"There are others," he said, pushing himself off the couch and trying to walk through the white haze that covers his vision. _Shit,_ he thinks, trying to keep his footing as he walks out of the lounge. Jack follows like an angry dog.

"Not that do what you do. Stop walking away from me!" Jack reaches out to grab Will's arm, and Will turns and scares Jack with the angry look in his eye.

"I don't care about them, Jack. Not today. I am fed up. I'm going home, I'm going to take care of my dogs. I have things to do," Will hissed at Jack. He turned on his heel and took a step but was overwhelmed by the dizziness that washed over him.

Will didn't realize how close to the stairs he was until he stumbled and lost his footing, hurtling head first down them. He feels each step, colliding violently with his bones until he lands in a heap at the bottom. Pain shoots up his skull, his back; everywhere. Jack is down the steps a second after Will pushes himself up to a kneeling position, tracing a laceration in his head with his finger.

"Will!" Jack is the one to turn to the voice that called his name, and soon enough Alana has Jack shoved out of the way.

He watches as she places a hand on his face, slowly angling it upwards so she can get a look at the cut. Will sighs in pain, dipping his head; Alana puts a hand under his arm and helps pull him to his feet. He stumbles into Alana, eyes half open as he slurs an apology. Alana casts a look at Jack.

"He needs to go to the infirmary," she says, steadying Will. Jack nods blankly and helps her drag Will to the elevator and to the sickroom.

Will's not conscious enough to fight the nurse who takes his shirt off, tracing a finger over the blooming bruise across his back. By the time Will wakes up, Alana has had the sense to call someone to take Will home; and when Will turns his head to the side, vision still blurry, he sees the vague outline of someone that immediately calms him. He breathes in his scent, still cloudy from the pain medication and the concision.

"Hello, Will," he breaths.

"'ello, Dr. Lector," Will slurs.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/u: I don't know what this just turned int goodbye i am gone.**

When Will comes to, it's a slow, gradual slide into consciousness. It's very different from being jerked harshly awake by nightmares. It's calming. His body is left to adjust to the small things first: the soft light that layers itself over Will's outstretched hand; the breathing of his dog next to him; the sound of someone knocking around in the kitchen; the smell of good, home cooked food. With a sigh Will sat up and actually groaned from the pain that accompanied it.

All the blood feels like it rushes into Will's head, cracking open his cranium. He imagines his skull splitting in two; of his blood rushing down the stairs, flooding his house. No idea where these images came from, but Will tries to stop them before he becomes ill. He concentrates on his breathing and swings his legs out of bed, then focuses on standing upright. At first he has to brace himself against a wall, slowly making his way to and then down the stairs. It feels like it takes ages.

Will is greeted by his dogs, all damp noses and warm breath on his shins. He smiles weakly, giving each one a good pat before making his way into the kitchen. The man in his kitchen has his back turned, but Will assumed he heard him come downstairs and greet the animals. He eases himself into a chair in the corner and watched the older man cook.

"Good morning, my dear Will."

"'morning."

"Sleep well?" he asks.

Will laughs quietly. "I guess so."

"How do you feel?" Dr. Lector turns around, balancing two plates on his graceful arms. He sets them on Will's table and outstretches his arm, inviting Will to sit.

"Just dandy," Will says, hissing a little when he felt his back stain against him standing. He felt Dr. Lector's hand, warm and guiding, against the screaming muscle.

"What do you remember, Will?" Dr. Lector asks carefully, putting food on his fork and motioning for Will to eat.

Will looks at the food on his plate, suddenly nauseous. He swallows hard and rubs his temples. "I remember looking at the case, going back to the academy and teaching, then telling Jack I didn't want to go to a different body… and then I'm just fuzzy." Will looks up. "You were there, I think. You and Alana."

Dr. Lector smiles and Will's confused gaze. "Correct, Will. We were there. It seems that you took a fall down the stairs. You have a minor concussion and some straining of the muscles in your back and shoulders," Dr. Lector said softly.

"I can tell," Will muttered, stirring his food around on the plate and feeling bad that he didn't feel like eating what his doctor had cooked. "Did you bring me home?"

"Yes. We arrived here around eight o'clock."

"You stayed over?"

"Yes. I do hope that's alright. I needed me to make sure you were well."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Anytime. Thanks, by the way."

Dr. Lector smiled. "You don't need to thank me, Will. I'm surprised you don't remember last night after you got home."

Will's head shot up. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, Will. You should eat."

"I'm not hungry." Will rolled his head and sighed, shooting Dr. Lector a look. "What did I say? What did I _do?_"

Dr. Lector smiled, picked up his plate and then glanced at Will's uneaten food.

"You should eat, Will."

"I don't feel well," he admitted.

"Probably a mix of the concision and the pain medication they gave you," Dr. Lector said, his fingers going to Will's chin.

He puts the plates down and tilts his head up, getting a look at his pupils: dilated. Will leaned into his touch, the same dizziness from the previous day seeping into him again. Dr. Lector moved his hand so that his palm lay on Will's face, and Will was too fuzzy to care about the contact.

"How do you feel, Will?"

"Tired."

"Then sleep," Dr. Lector murmured, and was surprised to feel Will's fingers encircle his wrist.

Will felt Dr. Lector's pulse in his own hand, and opened his eyes; the way the sunlight hit his hair made it look like it was spun from gold. Dr. Lector was close to him, so close that Will could feel his breath on his forehead. He stood up, and Dr, Lector didn't back up: they stood chest to chest. Dr. Lector breathed in the woeful, bittersweet scent that was Will Graham and let his eyes flicker to his patient's lips.

Neither of them was sure which one leaned into each other first; but the feel of his doctor's lips surprised Will. He had always thought they looked thin, almost cruel, but now that they were firmly pressed against his own, he realized how wrong he was. Will pressed against Dr. Lector, pushing him up against the wall; hands in his hand and heart racing.

Will gasped a little and let his finger wipe away a stray drop of blood. "You bit me, Dr. Lector," Will said, voice deep and teasing.

"Call me Hannibal, if you like," he said, almost stumbling over his words as Will bit softly into his neck.

"You got it, Hannibal."


	3. Chapter 3 (last chapter)

Hannibal's hands are cold, and Will feels them like needles in his skin every time they touch. Between the pulling his hair and whispering his name, Will has wound up on his kitchen table, Hannibal between his thighs. Dizzy, Will pulled away again and leaned his head against Hannibal's. When he opened his mouth to speak, Will pressed his lips to Hannibal's again. No words.

The feel of Hannibal's undershirt against Will's palms was nearly painful; Will slid his hands under it and felt the skin of his back, smooth and chilly against his sweaty hands. A drop of blood had dried against the side of Will's face, and Hannibal leaned forward and pressed his nose into his cheek, whispering something in a foreign language. His breath tracing down Will's collarbone make him shiver. Swallowing hard, Will laced his fingers into his doctor's hair again, directing his mouth back to his own.

Will gasps when Hannibal's fingers slide under his own flimsy shirt and find the tender tissue of his shoulder, and Hannibal pulls back for a moment and catches Will's eye.

"Do you trust me?" he asks quietly.

"Mm," Will replies, shaking a bit as Hannibal's hands work his torn muscle.

He leans further into Hannibal, allowing his touch to overwhelm him; swallows the moan that builds in the back of his throat. Carefully, Hannibal slides Will's shirt off, pressing his face to the damp collarbone. Will tightens his grip on Hannibal, letting his fingers explore his chest. He could map out the world, he decided, on Hannibal's back. He could be all the places he's ever been, because that how Will felt at that moment.

"Kiss me again," he said, voice dropping the last syllable.

Hannibal leaned back into Will, a fresh love mark blooming on his patient's neck.


End file.
